


i don’t know if you would listen

by oopsabird



Category: DCU, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Mid-Canon, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Prayer, Pre-Slash, Religious Discussion, Sami being beautiful in the twilight (again), sober Charlie, time to unpack my massive box of Charlie feels (again)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 12:03:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16197155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopsabird/pseuds/oopsabird
Summary: After the village battle and before the celebration, Charlie seeks out absolution in Veld's broken church.





	i don’t know if you would listen

**Author's Note:**

> Step 1: rewatch movie for 80 billionth time  
> Step 2: decide u wanna write fic set in the destroyed church when u see it on screen, bc it's a cool setting  
> Step 3: rant at ur pal about Charlie's character arc and journey to sobriety for the 3rd time this week  
> Step 4: 8 consecutive listens of [God Help The Outcasts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MEEpavnk7Uw) in under two days (hence the title)  
> Step 5: ~~Profit????????~~ fanfic
> 
> note the warning tag about dealings with (recent) past alcohol abuse. this fic is not subtle about it.
> 
> much as I act like it, I do not own these characters. (I don't even own the dvd, I borrow my roommate's copy every two months lmao). no infringement intended, etc, etc (def don't own the disney song either). many thanks to Kaye for beta-reading and for Will Smithing my fanfic *finger guns*

        While the rest of Veld bustled loud into the evening with life and celebration, the space inside the shattered church at the centre of the village was very, very quiet.

        The crumbling bell-tower had caved most of the left wing in, crushing the pews down most of that side and letting the dying sun stream in there as well as through the now-cracked stained glass windows. The massive circular glass designs on the front and rear facades were intact, though only barely — here and there certain pieces had broken out, the impact of the tower having been anything but gentle on the centuries-old panes of glass.

        The man inside the church was quiet, too.

        He sat in a pew a few rows from the front, just to the right of the aisle. Most of the left side was actually buried in the remains of that half of the roof, so he hadn’t exactly been left with much choice. He sat with his head bowed, leaning forward to rest elbows on thighs and clasp his hands together, the cap of his uniform clutched between them. His rifle lay far behind him just outside the great doors. A breeze blew through the cracked roof, rustling the tattered Army weather cloak that hung about his hunched shoulders — though the wind was cold, the man didn’t shiver.

        The church was rather dusty, and clearly had been even before the roof had caved in and covered everything in stone-dust. The Germans hadn’t kept it up properly, preferring to hold their own services at their main camp; the villagers had been too frightened to do anything more than pray quietly in their homes. Centuries of their ancestors had prayed in this church before them; married here, baptized here, attended mass and had their funerals here, were buried in the graveyard out behind. The man wondered, absently, as he ran his thumb over the metal crest on his cap, what might become of the church now — whether the townspeople would rebuild it. Whether anyone would ever pray, marry, be buried in it ever again.

        It had been a very long time since Charlie had prayed for anything. But today had not been like any other day he had ever lived through. So tonight, in this shattered church, he would try again.

        “I dunno if you can hear me,” he said softly, his voice a little hoarse from the afternoon’s shouting. “Or... or if there’s even anyone there to listen. Does a church still work if it’s broken like this, I wonder?” Charlie laughed, a little huff. “Granddad never really covered that one in his sermons, much as he droned on about everythin’ else.”

        The half-smile faded, and he sighed, dragging a hand over his face.

        “I s’pose... I s’pose I just feel lost, Lord.”

        He looked down at his hands, stuffed his hat into his pocket and laced his fingers together. “I’ve tried hard to be a good man, but... I dunno half the time anymore, whether good means followin’ my orders or doin’ what I know deep down is the decent human thing to do. I’d ask your forgiveness, but... I dunno if even that would be enough for all the things I’ve done in this war.”

        He shut his eyes. “And... they follow me, sometimes. The ghosts. Men I knew, mostly. Men I killed, sometimes. I.... I tried to stop them coming, so I could do my job. So I could sleep. I thought the drinking might do the trick, for a while. I know that’s another sin, Lord — a vice — but I’m hopin’ you might forgive me that one, at least.”

        He ran a hand through his hair, blowing out air through his nose. “I thought it might even work, like medicine maybe, but...... but my hands shook today, Lord. My hands shook today, because I had a beer for breakfast, and half a flask of Scotch before noon, all ‘cause last night I got mad at that lovely young lady after she saw me at my worst. Cause I didn’t wanna have anymore bad memories today. But my hands shook, and I couldn’t aim, and I couldn’t aim so I panicked, and I panicked so I couldnae move, and-”

        He took a long, shuddering breath, blinking hard against the stinging in his eyes. Dragging a hand down his face, he let it rest there over his eyes, pressing thumb and forefinger to his temples.

        “My friends could’ve died, because of me, Lord. Because they were countin’ on me to make that shot, and I couldn’t. Because I froze, because I panicked, because I shook, because I drank ‘cause I keep havin’ bloody night terrors like some kinda  _child!”_

        The last word was barked out louder than the others, echoing oddly from the broken walls and making Charlie flinch when the sound flew back at him.

        He sagged further forward in the pew, pushing the heels of his hands against his forehead.

        “It’s been... near ‘bout six hours now, since I had anythin’ to drink,” he said quietly. “And I know withdrawals’ll be settin’ in soon. I dropped my flask on the street somewhere, tryin’ to open it after the battle... I dunno where it is now, and... I know I could look, a part of me _wants_ to look, but-”

        He stopped, took a deep breath.

        “I don’t wanna keep solvin’ one problem by makin’ a new one appear, Lord. If Diana hadnae been there today... if she’s not there the next time...”

        He could see them in his mind, like he always did in his worst nightmares.

        Chief, dead on the ground with a lungful of gas.

        Steve, lying in the mud with a bullet in his head.

        Sameer, bleeding out in his arms and gasping his name, clutching desperately at the front of Charlie’s jacket as the light faded from those warm brown eyes.

        That last one even more than the others made Charlie’s heart twist sharp and barbed in his chest — Sami, kind and loyal Sami with his secretly big heart and his head full of stubborn dreams. Sami who had taken care of him, even when he’d been drunk and unpleasant and stupid; who had saved him today, saved him again and again in this war and somehow never left his side even when there were a dozen better places to be. The thought of Sameer dying, dying _because of him_... it was utterly unbearable.

        “Please... please God, I need your help,” Charlie croaked. “I- I need to be able to do _somethin’ —_ to do my job. To protect them... to protect him. I already know I’m damn near useless if I can’t shoot, but if I cannae keep them safe... what good am I?”

        He looked up to the ceiling, to the sky through the broken roof beginning to glow golden with sunset. “I- I don’t wanna keep drinking. I don’t want my hands to shake, I don’t wanna be snide and cold, I don’t wanna _be_ that person anymore. But I dunno how else to try an’ keep the ghosts out of my head, I don’t _know_ how to be a good man and a good soldier all at once...”

        He clasped his hands in front of him again, bowing his head to rest his forehead against his knuckles, willing them to stop trembling.

        “Please, Lord. I just... I need something more, something else. Something to help me. I just dunno what to do.”

        “I would try getting out of this building, as a start,” said a soft accented voice, echoing through the church.

        Charlie’s head snapped up and he leapt to his feet, whirling on the spot — there was Sameer, leaning in great doorway at the back of the building. He’d discarded his overcoats and gear somewhere, dressed now in just his suit with both hands in his pockets — when Charlie met his gaze, he smiled.

        “It looks structurally unsound, for one thing,” Sami continued, stepping inside and doffing the fez from his head to tuck it under one arm as he made his way down the aisle. “Would hate to have gone to all that trouble with the sniper earlier just for you to be crushed by falling rubble from this roof.”

        “Wh- how long have you been standin’ there?” Charlie sputtered, feeling his ears burn red.

        “Not long,” Sami shrugged, glancing around at the damaged building as he approached. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, if that is what you think.”

        “How’d you know I’d be in here?” Charlie said, blinking bewildered at him.

        “I’ve known you for a long time now, _mon ami,_ ” Sami said, coming to sit on the arm of the half-smashed pew across the aisle. “I know where you are most likely to seek your comfort. And since I found _this_ on the sidewalk outside....” he pulled Charlie’s flask out of his pocket, turning it over in his hands. He raised his eyes to the cracked ceiling, taking the whole place in with a glance. “Not hard to guess where else you might turn.”

        Charlie swallowed hard. Eyes on his feet, he moved to sit back down in the end of the pew so he wouldn’t have to look at the flask. Instead he gazed up at the cracked stained-glass windows at the front of the church, the setting sunlight now streaming through them in a kaleidoscope haze. He could hear Sami scuffing his boot on the stone floor, waiting for Charlie to break the silence.

        “They’re Catholic, here,” he said quietly, eyes tracing the coloured panels of glass that stretched high to the ceiling. “Not Protestant. But, when you’re a sinner as low as the likes of me, a church is a church, I s’pose.”

        “You think anyone is listening?” Sami said, turning his head to look at the windows as well.

        Charlie shrugged. “No more than I did yesterday, or the day before. But... I was raised on it. Prayer. Always feels like it’s worth a try.”

        Sami huffed, something like a laugh. “What, like perhaps if you beg _just_ hard enough this time, something might actually change?”

        Charlie sighed, rolling his eyes. “Well look, I know _you_ dinnae put much stock in it-”

        “I used to.” Sami said, a bit tersely. “You know I did. I was raised on faith too, just... differently.”

        Charlie ducked his head, feeling his ears burn. “I know. Sorry.”

        Sami sighed, waving off his apology. He shrugged. “I mean, I said all my prayers, on time every day. Followed all the rules, all the restrictions. I was good — as good as I could be, anyway. And it did not change anything. The terrible things still kept happening. I prayed for success and all I got was failure. I prayed for my country, and we were invaded. I prayed for peace, and the war still came.”

        “Maybe it doesn’t work like that,” Charlie said quietly, less edge to his voice than he might have intended.

        “Maybe,” Sami sighed, leaning back on his perch. “Or maybe I just got tired of waiting for my prayers to be answered. Decided to find some answers for myself.”

        “Or make some up?” Charlie teased, glancing over with a little smile.

        Sami chuckled, warm and low. “Yes, or do that. On occasion.” He pushed off of the end of the pew, stepping across the aisle to shuffle in and sit down beside Charlie at the end of his bench. He sighed, lacing his hands in his lap and looking up at the cracked peak of the roof above the window where the sunset streamed in. “After a while, you get tired enough of waiting that you take matters into your own hands. You realize that no great force is going to help you, or save you. That you have to save yourself.”

        “But... _you_ saved me.” Charlie said it without thinking, too quickly to reconsider; he glanced over at Sami to gauge his reaction.

        Sami’s eyebrows went up, and he blinked twice. Then his face relaxed and he sat silent for a long moment, still staring up at the windows; the sun pouring in painted his handsome face a myriad of colours, shining on each combed-down curl of his dark hair. He’d never looked more beautiful, Charlie thought absently, before brushing the comment away as he always did with such ideas.

        “Yes,” Sami said softly, after what felt like a lifetime had passed. “Yes I did, didn’t I? And then she saved us all.” He glanced over at Charlie, and his mouth curved up into a fond smile, lines crinkling around his eyes as he nudged Charlie’s shoulder with his own. “Perhaps this time, someone was listening.”

        A warm aching sensation was blossoming in Charlie’s chest as he smiled back at Sami, curling around his heart and promising not to let go. He knew what it was — old foolish feelings reigniting, so long dulled by the drink. The four-letter word he refused to name, lest that act of naming finally make it painfully real in addition to being painfully out of reach.

        “By the way, do you want this back?” Sami interrupted his thoughts, holding out the flask in one hand.

        Charlie stared at it for a second, then shook his head. “Nah. Just set it on the seat, I’ve no need of it anymore.”

        Sami blinked, taken aback for a moment. Then he smiled, the widest and brightest grin Charlie had seen from him in a long time, remarkably genuine. It made the warmth in his chest blaze hard enough to hurt, and he had to look away from Sami’s face, ducking his head and hoping the fading sunset glow would hide the foolish flush he could feel in his cheeks.

        “Well,” Sami set the flask aside and braced his hands on his knees, pushing to his feet, “I hear the villagers are planning some festivities after sundown, to celebrate their liberation.” He stretched his arms over his head with a groan, then tucked his fez back under his elbow and turned to look at Charlie, other hand in his pocket. “Would you like to come help myself and Chief set up the party lights, or do you need more time in here?”

        Charlie glanced up at the windows. The sun had faded now to a vivid pink glow visible through the cracks and gaps in the stonework, no longer beaming in through the glass. The chill that drifted in via the cracked roof whispered of snowfall to come.

        “Nah, I’m all done,” Charlie said, turning back to Sami and shaking his head. “Can’t think of anythin’ more to pray for tonight.”

        Sami smiled again. “Excellent.” He extended his hand to Charlie. “Then let us go prepare for a wonderful evening, shall we?”

        Charlie took the hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

        “After you, sunshine,” he gestured to the door, smiling.

        Leaving the flask behind on the seat, he turned away to walk beside Sameer out of the church, out into the fresh evening air.

**Author's Note:**

> today's Complimentary Canon Facts are: a] Charlie's terrible haircut [is actually a bad wig](https://mobile.twitter.com/louvretartt/status/1014993354583609344) (I KNEW IT), so we are all now free to imagine it straight out of existence instead and mentally give him better haircuts (congrats to constume designer Lindy Hemming for finding a way to make Ewen Bremner look even odder than he usually does, _somehow_ ), and b] the detail of Charlie having a flask of Scotch he carries around and then drops after the battle is borrowed from Nancy Holder's lovely novelization of the movie
> 
> I am actually quite pleased with this as a character study of Charlie (and of Sami, though to a less prominent extent), like I honestly had no concrete idea where it was going when I plunked the whole thing out in the course of yesterday afternoon but I'm happy how it turned out! everything about him quitting drinking that day is implied/implicit canon, fyi. also, this has a surprising amount of consideration and questions about religion in it, considering I'm p much an agnostic atheist, but I think it suits the characters well and doesn't come off as preachy/condescending, hopefully.
> 
> for those of you keeping score at home, the WIP list is holding strong at 46 ideas/unfinished works, excluding this one. which wasn't even on the list at any point bc I wrote it impulsively in like 8 hours on a whim. yeah. productive!
> 
> this ship and content related to it is now on tumblr [@tartanfez](https://tartanfez.tumblr.com)! (it's a work in progress but coming along nicely!). I am on tumblr as always [@oopsabird](https://oopsabird.tumblr.com)


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